Russia's Sunflower, Britain's Rose
by FromPrussiaWithLove
Summary: Anya Ovchinnikov, an orphaned Russian, gets adopted in her last year at the orphanage, removing her from her friend Natalia, her secret crush Ivan, and everyone she knows. Two years pass, Anya is placed in school to get to know her future husband Arthur.
1. No Offense, But Russians Are Wankers

**Summary:** Anya Ovchinnikov, an orphaned Russian, gets adopted in her last year at the orphanage, removing her from her friend Natalia, her secret crush Ivan, and everyone she knows. Two years have passed, at age 16, Anya is admitted to her first school, only spend time getting to know her arranged husband, Arthur Kirkland.

**Rating:** Teen, for now, possibly subject to change.

**Chapter 1: No Offense, But Russians Are Wankers.**

"Class, this is Anya Ovchinnikov, who has just transferred to our school is a year above her grade and has a record of pure success, so class, please join me in welcoming her to this school," the teacher announces. The class just stares. A nervous smile creeps across Anya's face; the silence oppresses anything she would even consider saying. "Why don't you sit over there, by Arthur Kirkland." Anya could have sworn the teacher had sent a wink towards her. _Did my adoptive parents tell him about their marriage arrangements?_ Anya sits down in the desk to the right of Arthur and sends a smile towards him, the only person she knows here.

"Hello, Anya," he greets. "So, you're last name is Ovchinnikov? You're parents though, they're Brits, like so..."

"They adopted me two years ago. I've spent everyday from when I was seven till fourteen in a freezing, overpopulated, and malnourished orphanage, but it was fun, in a way." She confesses, playing with her hands, which became instantly interesting for some reason.

"Russians? I don't believe such blasphemous ideas. You don't seem Russian."

"You make it sound like you know a bunch of angry Russians or something..."

"Well, not a bunch, just one big wanker of a Russian!" Arthur sneers, brows furrowing at his forehead's center.

"Oh, what's his name, or should I ask, are you sure he's even Russian?" Anya laughs lightly. Arthur makes her feel like less of a stranger, reminds her of Ivan... _Ivan, did you ever help Yekaterina raise enough money to move out of Marx Orphanage? Did you and your sisters finally get to live together? Did nothing change after I was adopted?_

"-ski, wait are you listening to me, Anya?" Arthur looks at her; he wonders why, or how he gets to be considered her _fiancee._ "Anyways, there are a lot of people here that you should avoid, for attitude purposes. The two Weillschmidts, one's a sex-hormone driven pervert, and the other is a sadist and gets off on all the wrong things. There's Bonnefoy, that bloody French prick; that is kind of self explanatory." He continues his list, and Anya just nods and pretends to take a mental note here and there.

"Arthur, we know that you are _very _interested in Ms Ovchinnikov for several reasons, but please, allow me to teach my bloody class." The teacher snaps which makes the rest of the class stare and snicker at Arthur's humility.

–

Anya only sees Arthur for her first period; they supposedly have lunch together. However, today she couldn't find him, which led to her making new friends. Friends, whose names sound familiar, but not for a good reason, or so her gut tells her. She feels like there's a neon sign over her, flashing "new girl, some and get her!" Or maybe, she just looks that out of place. Before she even got to the lunch line, a student with a pale complexion, almost white blonde hair with a tinge of gray, and fire filled red eyes hooks his arm with Anya's. They walk a few feet like this before the pale student strikes a conversation.

"New? If not, new to me. And that's all that matters because no one, _no one, _is as awesome as me, and so no one else matters!" An awkward conversation starts. "Anyways, you look hot, can I order you online and get you in the mail the next day?"

"What?" This guy talks faster than Anya can think, which makes her feel small and pressured which makes her stressed and causes her to keep with one word answers.

"I guessed you were Russian, so I was just playing off the ads that you always see for ordering 'Russian Beauties' for wives, but don't take it personal. I like a girl who can hold her beer, but no one can hold it as well as I do. What can I say? I'm awesome." He continues to stroke his own ego.

"Well, unless your name is 'awesome;' I don't know who you are..." For some reason, asking his name felt extremely rude.

"Weillschmidt, Gilbert Weillschmidt. And your name?"

"Anya, Anya Ovchinnikov."

"Well, if you – no, not 'if you' cause you _totally would_ – date me; we'd be known as the couple with the longest ass surnames, Ms Ovchin – sorry..."

"Ovchinnikov, haha, it's ok; it's a mouthful." Anya smiles at him.

"That's what you'll be saying later, when you're on your knees, loving it." Gilbert's face twists into the pervert that he is turning out to be. "I've never had a girl who was dissatisfied with my _product_."

"Halt den Mund, Bruder. Sie ist nicht eine deiner billigen Huren haben Sie mehr als an jedem anderen Tag! (1)" Another student accuses Gilbert; this guy has steel blue eyes, pale blonde hair that is slicked back with gel, and perfectly creased clothing, clearly has an adept knowledge of German.

"Ja, aber sie wird, warten Sie nur Bruder. Die Frauen sind alle gleich, so lange wie Sieeinen Schwanz haben sie die Oberhand haben. (2)" Gilbert replies, fluently, almost as if English were his _second_ language but maybe, it is.

"Bruder, du irrst dich, aber du nie die Zeit nehmen, bekommen ein Mädchen kennen, bevor Sie schlafen mit ihr. (3)" The blonde seems to have found the chink in Gilbert's egotistical armor because Gilbert seems to have snapped.

"Als ob du jemals mit einer Frau schlafen, du Muschi. Es ist mir peinlich, Sie anzurufen,mein Bruder! (4)" Gilbert yells back; his ego has clearly been wounded.

"Mindestens Mama und Papa sind nicht peinlich, rufen Sie mich an ihren _Sohn_ (5)" The blonde successfully leaves Gilbert speechless, but it's different this time, Gilbert's eyes are wide and not looking like they're about to relax any time soon.

"Ich kann nicht glauben Sie ging dorthin. Das ist ein neuer Tiefpunkt für Sie, Ludwig. (6)" Anya watches Gilbert pull back, hide in himself, avoiding eye contact with others.

"Gilbert, are you ok? I don't know what that was about, maybe it's better I don't, but you look really upset." Anya wants to make sure he's ok, under the surface of his ego.

"Nein. (7) Sorry, I'm fine. It was just a bad case of sibling rivalry, and you know how that goes."

"Well," Anya stand on her tip toes and kisses Gilbert on the cheek. "You can tell me anything, hopefully in English, and I'll try to help you." She smiles at Gilbert, who seems shocked at the fact that he may actually believe her.

–

An eventful lunch for what was supposed to be a peaceful first day. All that is left of the day is one more class. Anya can handle one more class for the next twelve hours. However, she underestimates the possibility of meeting the Vargas twins and the _other _Weillschmidt. The Vargas twins, Feliciano and Lovino, spend the class constantly arguing in Italian and the Weillschmidt just sighs and mutters German. What's even stranger is how the teacher just lets this continue throughout the class.

"Lovino, Ludwig non è male, infatti, è molto bella e mi fa risparmiare tutto il tempo,specialmente quando sto per essere picchiato da dire totalmente estranei! (8)" Feliciano seems to convince his brother Lovino that 'Ludwig' isn't that bad. Ludwig, which Anya believes is the other Weillschmidt just from context of what everyone says around him.

"Fratello, perché è la testa avvitata su così indietro?Quel maledetto mangiatore di patatedeve smettere di farsi coinvolgere con noi. Prima o poi, dovrà iniziare a trarre vantaggio, sai? (9)" Lovino retorts with victory written on his face.

"Ma il fratello, le patate non sono così male, soprattutto con la pasta, quindi forse, solo forse, si potrebbe dare una pausa Ludwig, no? (10)" Feliciano seems to now have the upper hand over Lovino's argument.

"Non mi importa di patate! Questo maledetto tedesco è ancora qualcuno che odio, e nullasi dice può cambiare! (11)" Lovino doesn't seem to be giving up any upcoming century, so Anya tries to ignore them, while overhearing Ludwig.

"Oh Scheiße, dieses Argument nicht wieder... (12)" The German mutters and holds his head in his hands.

–

Since Anya is able to survive two sibling hatreds in one day she feels invincible, that is before she walks out the door of school. Yes, it is fairly cold now, but not cold enough to require a long trench-coat and scarf. The student's strange fashion statement isn't what bothered Anya. She is bothered by his face, his voice, and just him in general.

"Oh hello," that voice triggers so many things in Anya's brain. "I'm Ivan, Ivan Braginski."

"_Ivan...?_"

"Святое дерьмо, _Аня_? (13)"

"Я скучал по тебе много, Иван... (14)" Anya replies, flawlessly in her primary language.

"Два года, двух родителей, двух человек, все из Маркса детского дома. Приятновидеть вас снова, Аня. (15)" Ivan replies; oh, how Anya's missed speaking in this beautiful language.

1 – Shut your mouth, brother. She's not one of your cheap whores you have over every other day!

2 – Yes, but she will be, just you wait brother. Women are all the same, as long as you have a dick you have the upper hand.

3 – Brother, you're wrong, but you never take the time to get to know a girl before you sleep with her.

4 – As if you'll ever sleep with a woman, you pussy. I'm embarrassed to call you my brother!

5 – At least mom and dad aren't embarrassed to call me their _son._

6 – I can't believe you went there. That's a new low for you, Ludwig.

7 – No.

8 – Lovino, Ludwig's not bad, in fact, he's very nice and saves me all the time, especially when I'm about to get beaten up by totally mean strangers!

9 – Brother, why's your head screwed on so backwards? That damn potato eater needs to stop getting involved with us. Sooner or later, he'll begin to take advantage, you know?

10 – But Brother, potatoes aren't that bad, especially with pasta, so maybe, just maybe, you could give Ludwig a break, no?

11 – I don't care about potatoes! That damn German is still someone I hate, and nothing you say can change that!

12 – Oh shit, not this argument again...

13 – Holy shit, _Anya_?

14 – I've missed you a lot, Ivan...

15 – Two years, two parents, two people, all from Marx Orphanage. It's good to see you again, Anya.

I hope you liked the story thus far. It's my first fanfic, and I hope it turns out well :D Review and tell me what need be corrected because I will do whatever will help this story turn out to the best of its potential! :D

– FromPrussiaWithLove


	2. Remember the Snow?

**Chapter 2: Remember the Snow?**

Anya can't believe her eyes! _Ivan, _the _Ivan from Marx._ She never knew his last name, that was one of those policies at the orphanage. She remembers all the tiny little things from the orphanage like how Ivan was the first one she met; with both his sisters clinging to him, he gave her the tour of the harsh place they called home. Ivan probably remembers it just as well as her; he was there longer...

––

"You do not have a last name here; if you were with your parents who give you a surname, you _would _have a last name. The only people who will acquire surnames are the children who are adopted, and even in that case, no one else is to know that child's surname. After you leave here, all contact is supposedly lost." The head of the orphanage announced in an orientation for the few new children who wandered onto his doorstep. "Now, after this, you will be assigned which room you will be sleeping in, either A or B. First names A – M will be sleeping in room A; first names N – Z will be sleeping in room B. Understood?" The tiny mob of children wandered over to the large double doors where the nannies stood with little tags labeled A or B. In this world, a child was only an A or B, nothing the slightest bit more, or at least that's how it came to seem to the administration.

"Big brother! Why do you mess with such stupid new kids?" a young girl yelled; she was pretty, blonde hair adorned with a bow, simple but elegant dress, and an adorable face. A girl in the mob of children smiled at the sight of this other girl the same age as herself. "All that should matter to you is me, your family!"

"But sis, the new kids look like fun people," a young boy replied. He looked slightly older than his sister, and he had this strange air of maturity. Yet, he looked nothing like his sister; with silver tinted hair, you could only tell their relation by their unusual eye color. "And while you are my family, everyone else here is a family as well, so I'd like to watch out for them."

"Fine, but I think it's stupid!" the girl runs away down the hall a few doors then takes a left. The boy looks up at the crowd.

"Hello, I'm Ivan. Is this the A room kids?" His smile looked so genuine, but something felt so faked about it. Eventually, after checking a few tags, Ivan guided the crowd to the room his sister ran into. The room is lined with old mattresses; the group of children broke out throughout the room, claiming empty beds. All except one, a girl with sandy brown hair and eyes like oceans, stood in the doorway staring at the others. The boy walked up to her and tapped her shoulder; she jumped. "Hi, what's your name?"

"Uh...Well...I-it's...Anya...What's...yours?" She looked so scared; Ivan figured it was because he invaded her personal space. He made a mental note about that.

"Well Anya, I'm Ivan. Nice to meet you. I hope we become friends." He smiled, but his smile seemed real.

"Thank...you..." She looked at the floor, and for the first time, Ivan considered a girl as 'pretty.'

Anya watches the snow fall outside the classroom window. _Snow, Ivan's always involved with snow. I remember when I was seven, my first year at Marx; Ivan dragged me outside and made a snowman with me. We did that every year for the next seven years. When I was thirteen, Ivan took me a different way to church by sneaking out of the group during a snowstorm. I had my first kiss then, but I was immature and still believed in cooties. The last year at Marx, I was fourteen; Ivan promised me that when he was old enough he would bring me out somewhere beautiful and treat me like royalty. He was cheesy like that, but I loved it. I loved him._ By the time Anya gets back to reality, Ivan is sitting in a chair in front of her desk, staring at her. He looks as if he's going to ask something, but he shakes it off, gets up, and wanders to find someone else to talk to. Arthur, looking quite irritated, replaces Ivan in the chair.

"What's wrong, love?" Anya asks Arthur who is obviously bothered.

"That German, Gilbert,you didn't talk to him, right?" Arthur's face gets red with even the mention of Gilbert.

"I said 'hi' to him yesterday, why?" Anya considers telling Arthur that she _did_ in fact speak with Gilbert; it wasn't a smart idea.

"He sits there boasting about how he got this French girl to shag him; God, he's so annoying." Arthur looks a tinge bit jealous about the fact that Gilbert's getting some, and Arthur isn't.

"Well, is there anything I can do for you?" She smiles, still thinking about Ivan.

"Come to my place tonight? My parents are out; I'd like to spend time with you." Arthur smiles weakly trying to get Anya to accept; she would have anyway.

"Of course, I'd love to, see you around six?"

"Your parents said you'd be there by five, if not earlier." They are her parents. Always trying to get Arthur in her pants and get her pregnant to seal the deal for good.

"Oh, ok, I'll be there at five."Arthur leans in to kiss her, but Ivan grabs Arthur and asks him about a project in a class that Anya doesn't have. The bell rings; Anya leaves. Arthur curses the Russian for making lose his chance to kiss Anya.

––

"Просто моя удача. Я столкнулся с Иваном. После того, как я планировал жениться на Артура. Это дерьмо несправедливо. они не понимаю, что он хотел жениться на ком-то вы не знаете, после того, как воссоединилась с любимым человеком... (1)" Anya mutters as she shuffles into the small house a few blocks from her bus stop. She stops to check the mail, and her breath catches when she sees a letter addressed "Аня Овчинникова (2)" in the mail box. She instantly looks at the return address and smiles at the sight of "Иван Брагинский (3)," she grabs the rest of the mail while hurrying into the house. After closing the door, she checks the clock 16:30, she decides she'll just tell Arhur she got lost and show up at six like she wanted to. She rips open the letter from Ivan, which only consisted of a few sentences:

"Аня Овчинникова, девушка из Маркса, показал вверх в моей школе. Вы не поверите, было мое удивление, видя вас, но почему при том, что британские идиот, который в течение недели пытался шестнадцатеричный меня? В любом случае, я хотел бы попросить вас осень танцы до этого идиота сделал, и я должен тебе эту дату. Так что вы идете на танцы со мной? Или Артур? (4)"

Anya's eyes read over every part over and over. She knows he wouldn't forget, but she pretends like he did. The idea that he had forgotten her helps her get over the fact that she's stuck with Arthur, but now there is this. A perfect opportunity to be with Ivan; one that she is expected to turn down.

"Ах, Иван, (5)" she sighs as she walks out the door to see Arthur, hoping that Arthur doesn't ask her to the dance as well. It's warmer outside around this time, which is odd since the sun is no longer out, and to Anya's dismay the beautiful snow has been reduced to rain. The rain glues Anya's hair to her forehead and adds weight to her clothes. By the time she reaches Arthur's dry doorstep, she is dripping wet, but she can't find a reason to ring the doorbell. Anya stands on the doorstep when the door opens, revealing Arthur.

"Were you ever planning on coming inside?" Arthur asks concerningly.

"Да, я планировал, но я просто не добрались до нее. (6)" Anya whispers.

"Wait, what did you say? Sorry, I don't understand Russian."

"Oh, I didn't realize."

"So, how are you? Are you ok? It's 6:30, you know..."

"I was just really lost."

"Well, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ok, ask away."

"Would you like to go to Homecoming with me?"

"Oh, well, I don't know. I just, well, I've already been asked by someone."

"Weillschmidt? Please, tell me you're not ditching me for him."

"It's not Gilbert _or Ludwig_."

"Then who?"

"Иван Брагинский (3)" Anya whispers.

"Tell me, that you turned the wanker down."

"I don't know I'm still thinking about it..."

"Please, consider." Arthur whispers as he leans in and places a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Anyways, how are you?"She attempts to change the subject.

"I'm great, come in. Sorry, for keeping you out here for so long. I'll go get you a towel, but make yourself at home," he states as he walks away to fetch a towel. Anya looks around his house from the doormat, _such a big house_; she spots a family picture: Arthur, his mother, and his father. _Such a small family. I wonder if he was lonely growing up. _She looks up when she hears approaching footsteps. Arthur appears from around a corner with a big, fluffy towel and wraps it around her. "Geez, I said you could come inside, ha-ha"

"Oh, right, sorry... I didn't want to get anything wet..." She responds as Arthur leads her to the family room; the first thing she spots is the grand piano.

––

"I love playing piano! I learned when I was five!" A young girl with bright ocean colored eyes exclaimed. "Do we have one here?"

"No, we're not allowed to play instruments; the nannies think that instruments are too loud. And it gives the head of the orphanage a headache," a young boy responded solemnly.

"That's unfair. I just learned to memorize a song; it's very beautiful. Do you think we could sneak out to the lobby one day and play the piano there?"

"They'd kill for even asking such a thing."

"Why?"

"Now's not the time for wussy music; they want us to learn to be productive. Music isn't productive. Why do you think the Austrian's don't get much done? They play music while the rest of the world works and slaves away."

"I think that's your opinion; music is beautiful. In fact, my father married my mother because of it. He was a talented pianist; she was a talented violinist. I grew up with music around me all the time."

"Well, I guess, I _would_ like to hear you play." The boy smiled.

––

"Do you play? The piano that is..." Arthur asks after noticing her gaze on the piano.

"Oh, yes. I love music; may I play?" Anya asks as she walks towards the piano.

"Sure, I'd love to hear it." She sits down on the bench in front of the piano. _I never played that song for you, Ivan. You never got to hear music how I hear it. Maybe, I can show you now. Soon. _Anya rests her hands on the ivory and ebony keys. As if it were only yesterday that she learned the piece, she begins to play an improvised rendition of _Moonlight Sonata_. The notes play across her eyelids whenever she closes them. She loves music, and feels at piece with it. Soon, she forgets where she is and goes straight into _Once Upon a December._

"_Танцующие медведи, окрашенные крылья, что я почти помню, и песни поет, кто-то, когда-то декабря. Цифры танцует изящно, по моей памяти. Кто-то держит менябезопасным и теплым. Лошади прыгать через серебряный шторм. Цифры танцуетизящно, по моей памяти. Далеко, очень давно, светятся тусклым, как уголек,однако, мое сердце знала, все это очень хочет помнить, и песни поет, кто-то когда-то декабря._(7)" Anya silently sings to herself. She slowly stops. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I know you can't understand that..."

"True, I don't understand, but I still think it was beautiful."

"I think I'd like to go." She mentions as she gets up from the bench. "I'm sorry for such a short visit, but I'm not feeling well. I'll show myself out." She finishes as she practically runs to the front door and out into the pouring rain, leaving Arthur alone in a big, dark, lonely house.

Out in the rain, Anya spots a figure standing by the road about ten feet ahead of her. Once she walks up to the figure she realizes it's Ivan. She stops a few feet away, watching his solemn expression. He's still wearing a trench coat, of course this is more weather suited for a trench coat. He seems to be talking to someone out in the rain, but then, Anya spots the faint glow against his skin. He's on the phone with someone; she wants to ask who it is. However that's not her business, and she watches him throw the phone on the ground and notice her. His face softens into a sorrowful smile.

"Ты никогда не говорил, что ты выйти за него замуж. Почему бы и нет? Боже, ядействительно чувствовала, потому что мы, наконец, встретились за пределами этого проклятого места, мы могли бы быть вместе, но не любишь, что британскиеидиот! Так скажите мне, зачем вы тратите свое время, когда вы собираетесь уйти и жениться господин "Веселые Ol 'гл" (8)" He mutters.

"Ivan..."Anya walks closer to him.

"Если вы хотите поговорить со мной, говорить на нашем языке не его. (9)"

"Что случилось, что вы имеете в виду? (10)" Anya approaches Ivan; her hand grasping his.

"Аня, я, ну И. ... Я всегда чувствовал, что вы были специальные тех пор как мыпоцеловались. И я, и, я думаю. Нет, я знаю, что я люблю тебя, Аня Овчинникова. (11)" Ivan looks away; his face turns a rosy pink.

"Иван, я не люблю Артура, и я тебя тоже люблю, мои глупые снежинки. (12)" She kisses Ivan. Ivan kisses her back as his hands rest on her hips; her hands pull at the cloth of his trench coat.

"Так что о танце, дорогая? (13)" Ivan asks while nestling his face into Anya's neck.

"Конечно. (14)" She wraps her arms around his waist. Ivan holds her hand as they walk towards her house. _This is how it should be. This is how I want to grow old. With Ivan holding my hand and telling me that he loves me._ Ivan smells of vanilla and soap. He stops walking at the end of her driveway and watches her walk up to the door. They share one last kiss before she steps away towards her parents' house.

––

The following day is cold, and all the AP European History classes have been decreased to such a small size, that all the students are put in the same class. The teacher presents his new idea:

"The rest of this year will be a summit. Everyone will be assigned a country and portray that country for the rest of the year." Arthur smiles at Anya; she simply waves. "Arthur Kirkland will be England; Alfred Jones will be the USA."

"America? What do the bloody Americans have to do with European countries?" Arthur yells, clearly irritated by the participation of the American.

"Whoa, dude, way to, like, totally abuse your own colony!" Alfred yells back, raising his arms. "Besides, how do you think you could progress anywhere without a hero like me, America!"

"Settle down, as I was saying. Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo is Spain, Francis Bonnefoy is France. The two Vargas twins are Italy. Wang Yao is China; Kiku Honda is Japan. Ludwig Weillschmidt is Germany; his brother, Gilbert, is Prussia. Roderich Edelstein is Austria; Elizaveta Héderváry is Hungary. Ivan Braginski is Russia, and Anya Ovchinnikov is Seychelles."

"So, you pretty much gave us our country by our ethnicity, no? I think it's wonderful, besides no one else could play France as well as moi!" Francis admires himself.

"This is going to awesome! I mean no country's cooler than Prussia! It's almost as awesome as me!" Gilbert comments. _This summit sounds like it will be fun. _Anya smiles at Ivan, who's smiling right back at her. _He looks proud to represent Russia, even if it's just for some cheesy summit._

––

1- Just my luck. I run into Ivan. After I've been planned to marry Arthur. This shit is unfair. They don't understand what it's like to marry someone you don't know after you've been reunited with someone you love...

2- Anya Ovchinnikov

3- Ivan Braginski

4- Anya Ovchinnikov, the girl from Marx, has shown up at my school. You would not believe my surprise seeing you, but why with that British idiot, who spent a week trying to hex me? Anyways, I wanted to ask you to the Autumn dance (Homecoming) before that idiot did, and I owe you that date. So would you go to the dance with me? Or Arthur?

5- Oh, Ivan

6- Oh, I was planning on it, but I just never got to it.

7- "Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember, and a song someone sings, once upon a December. Figures dancing gracefully, across my memory. Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully, across my memory. Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember, things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember, and a song someone sings once upon a December."

8- You never said that you were marrying him. Why not? God, I actually felt like, since we had finally met outside of that damned place, we could have been together, but no you love that British idiot! So tell me, why are you wasting my time when you're going to leave and marry mister "Jolly Ol' Chap"

9- If you want to talk to me, speak in our language not his.

10- What's wrong; what do you mean?- Anya, I, well I... I've always felt like you were special ever since we kissed. And I, well, I think. No, I know that I love you, Anya Ovchinnikov

11- Ivan, I don't love Arthur, and I love you, too, my silly snowflake.

12- So what about the dance, darling?

13- Of course

**Dear Reader**, Thank you for reading more than one sentence of this; I hope I'm a decent writer. I could always use some reviews, criticisms, etc., but unlike some writers I _won't_ _demand_ reviews to update my story _(even if I did, still no one would review ha-ha)._ Anyways, what do you think about the story and where should it go from here? I'm open to any ideas, and I'm really interested in my reader(s) opinions on this, because this is my first fanfic. On another note, should I stop doing the Russian (or German or Italian or etc language) with translations at the end or continue that? I feel like it gives authenticity to the characters and their culture, but what do I know, I'm just a rookie! I'd love to hear from you guys though(:

With Love,

~FromPrussiaWithLove


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